The really early miscarriage.

A few weeks ago Daniel and I had the BEST news and we were quick to share it with our friends and loved ones. Some would say too quick.

I was brought up with the old adage, 'Don't count your chickens before they hatch!' and never was there a more fitting situation..

But why not? Aren't we always talking about the power of positivity? What is the point in preparing for the worst all the time? Focus on the good I say. That will generate even more good. It didn't in this case though.

And it was just bad luck.

Actually no - scratch that! I don't think it was just bad luck. I think what happened was what was supposed to happen. Daniel held my hand tightly on the morning while the miscarriage was happening. His disappointment was too strong to mask. But it wasn't directed at me. To me he said something quite sickeningly beautiful and perfect, like,

"Baby, I trust in you and your body implicitly and if this is happening to us, then your body knows something we don't."

My own disappointment in myself was pretty unbearable at the time. I totally blamed myself then, and ~ let's face it ~ I still do a bit now. And, well, shit... I didn't WANT to hear anything logical or reasonable. I may have been laying dry-eyed, silent and motionless, with my thighs squeezed tightly together, desperately hoping gravity could circumvent the miscarriage, but on the inside I was jumping up and down screaming "GIVE ME MY BABY BACK!!!"

Because to me he already was my baby. And he already had a name. And I had already figured out the sleeping arrangements, and I knew exactly how many years beneath his big sister and brothers in school he would be. He wasn't a fetus or a cluster of cells dividing. He was my fourth.

And I had FELT him growing inside of me for two weeks.

Time is an incomprehensible thing. So much can happen and so much can change in the blink of an eye. Our time on this Earth is fleeting - whether we live to be 2 or 102 ~ and in the whole scheme of things, that baby DID had a lifespan, albeit a really really short one.

But let's get real here....

>>>>If I hadn't taken a test I might have had a delayed period and might never have known.

>>>>This happens to at least 1 in 5 women out there....

>>>>There's every chance this was a chemical pregnancy ~ or a phantom pregnancy ~ and there might NEVER have been a baby there in the first place.

All meaning WHAT exactly?

Am I not allowed to grieve?
Does any of  that make this sadness less real?

I think that if I'm honest with myself there's a big part of me that believes I am not even entitled to be disappointed. I look at my three little wonders of the world and I am so eternally grateful for them.

And there's this nagging voice inside my head... How can you ask for more? HOW. DARE. YOU.? 

'This is what you get for being greedy.........'

I know better than to listen, I do. But it still hurts though.